


Technological/Mechanical

by Callistra



Category: Dr Who - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Technological, kink bingo, mechanical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callistra/pseuds/Callistra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're a robot, Amy, and you're going to explode," he said thoughtlessly. Amy's eyes went wide. Her panic might literally explode then? What better incentive could she have for remaining calm? She drew a deep breath, about to baste him in questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Technological/Mechanical

     Amy’s brogue was getting stronger. She could hear it with every shriek echoed in the console room.

     “Doctor, tell me what’s going on!” Remaining calm was hard, harder when panic threatened to explode, raining fear and terror over whatever parade was going on in the blithering idiot’s head.

     “Shhh shh shh shhh,” he said, putting one finger to his lips. “You’re a robot, Amy, and you’re going to explode,” he said thoughtlessly. Amy’s eyes went wide. Her panic might literally explode then? What better incentive could she have for remaining calm? She drew a deep breath, about to baste him in questions.

     “Ssssh sssh ssssh shh,” he said, this time putting a finger on her lips.

     The touch of his finger was an unexpected anchor, and experimentally she touched his finger tip with her tongue. He didn’t even notice.

     Her belly relaxed, her breathing slowed, and she wished to every god she knew he would just keep his finger right there.

     “Now, we are in the alternative here, sorry about that black hole Tardis time tunnel problem, but if you’re a robot here, then you must be a VSeven model…” he kept blithering. She licked his finger again, knowing he was deep in mid thought and really, she didn’t exist for him right now. Again the calm flooded through her, the taste of salt and metal carrying deep.

     “So, what we need to do,” he said, his eyes focusing on hers so suddenly she recoiled, “is to get the rogue circuit out of you before you blow.” 

     Blow what? She blinked, and her lip was cold when he stepped away. He shambled off, pausing in the doorway to peer back at her.

     “You coming then?” he asked. He led her to a small medical room, a trolley table in the middle and three operation lights above the bed. He turned to her with a determined look in his eyes. She leaned against the bed, away from him.

     “I promise you’ll be fine, Amy,” he said, his heart obviously serious.

     “Sure,” she said, sitting on the trolley and kicking her heels.

     “On your back, Amelia Pond,” he said, thumping the pillow. She leaned back, unsure just how much she trusted him.

     “You’ll … er… need to lift your shirt,” he said, waving her hands near her midriff. She lifted the thin material, panic rising in her again. How was he going to get in? Would it hurt?

     “Now, there should be an access hatch,” he muttered, staring into the distance as long cool fingers probed her belly and ribs. Each touch warmed and then cooled her, until she curled her toes to keep herself silent.  Sometimes his touch brought calm, and sometimes something else altogether.

     “Here we go!” he declared. With a tiny click, a long panel across her ribs flipped up. Her eyes were so wide she feared she would never blink again. An itch told her where the seam was in her skin, and a frisky breeze – _in her belly_ – proved the Doctor was in no way fibbing.

     “Oh Amy,” he whispered. Her frightened eyes darted to his face. “You’re beautiful,” he said. While she’d love to hear those words, now was not the right time. “You’re clockwork, Amy. Just beautiful. Not a VSeven at all, you’re a TenOne,” he reached up to turn on one of the lights, and angled it into her stomach. A warm feeling grew as he reached in, his fingers trailing along one of the cogs. She curled up, a shriek dying in shock as she stared into the hole. Cogs! Clockwork! What sort of a robot was she?

     “Don’t panic!” the Doctor shouted as she drew a deep breath to scream. She bit her tongue, tears forming in her eyes. Where was her heart? How was she breathing? Would she still be a robot when they went home? What would Rory say? Something in her hurt at these thoughts – she couldn’t be all robot, could she? How do you program clockwork to feel?

     “I wasn’t about to, Doctor,” she lied, her vulnerability and fears clear in her voice. His eyes met hers, and he saw her, inside and out. He gave her a gentle smile.

     “Hush, Amelia Pond,” he said quietly. “I’m two digits into your clockwork and you are such a beautiful machine I could never forgive myself if I hurt you,” he said. She swallowed a sob, and forced herself to lie back down, staring at the ceiling above. His fingers were deep inside her now, and she held her breath, unsure that moving air in and out outweighed the benefits of stillness.

     “Can I… can I be hurt?” she whispered, scared to break his attention.

     “I think so,” he said with a happy shrug. “You didn’t even know you were a robot! So you must be feeling the same sort of things as you were at home,” he said. She insisted her limbs relax, and slowly her calves, thighs, arms did so. She trusted him, she told herself again and again. He had pulled her out of worse scrapes time and time again. The skin of her belly tingled under a rough thumb; she looked up to see him smiling down at her, giving what was effectively a comforting pat.

     “You’re being very brave, Ms Pond,” he said proudly. “I can feel the spanner in your works,” he grinned. She groaned at his words. She kept her gaze on his eyes though, seeing the myriad emotions as he poked through her. Delight, wonder, pride, every thought was as clear as day. And then the thought storm as his brain fizzed and flipped, pulling random data together. He was about to start ranting, she realised as his eyes darkened, using his own voice as an anchor in the storm of thoughts and raw datum. She rolled her eyes and any tense parts of her body relaxed, collapsing her further into the bed.

     “So, if you’re not a VSeven, this means the universe I thought we were in is actually a different time of the same period, which means I need to find out why….” She let the data storm rush over her, listening with only a part of her brain. Her hand slipped along her waist, and one timid index finger explored the seam in her flesh. Metallic teeth rimmed the hole, like a zip, perhaps? She hadn’t noticed much in her panicked look earlier; perhaps she should take a look now…? She tried to slide herself up a bit, hoping the Doctor wouldn’t notice her moves. The flow of his voice came to a halt.

     “Do you want to have a look?” he said, understanding dawning in his eyes. “I can be so stupid at times. Of course you want to have a look! Nothing to be frightened of at all!” he declared.  

     “Just… get the bomb out, Doctor,” she suggested. Keeping him focused seemed to be her main job. “Get it out. We can look properly later,” she promised. “And don’t tell Rory,” she begged. Trying to explain how she knew what it felt like to have the Doctor ‘two digits deep in her belly’ would be hard enough…

     “Don’t tell Rory?” he said. “Why not? He would be as proud of your gleaming, beautiful inner works as I am! He should know! He should have pictures, so he can always come back to the beauty that is in you, Amy! Don’t tell Rory!” The Doctor’s voice died away. He looked down at his hands, and then to Amy’s eyes. “Ah. I’m… ah… I have two hands in your belly. He might get a bit … particular about that?” he said, and his fingers tightened. She gasped, a line of heat burning all the way up to her heart.  The Doctor blinked at her.

     “What did you do?” she asked.

     “Er… this?” he asked, and did it again. Her toes curled, and she bit her lip, nodding frantically. Her belly felt liquid and warm, and pleasure ran along her spine. “Is it hurting you?” he asked, concern in his face. She shook her head in short, tiny movements, terrified if she moved too much she might lose that zing. “Ahhhhh,” he said, his mouth hanging open.

     “I … your eyes are huge, Amy,” he said. “It… er… stands to reason… that it might be pleasurable… for a robot to be serviced…” his voice tailed away. “I… ah... have to go a bit further in to reach the chip,” he said quietly. She nodded, the same frantic movement as before. She had never held her breath for so long, and her chest started to ache.

     “Do it – do it quickly,” she whispered. “Or… or do it slow…” she couldn’t stop herself. The words slipped between them, full of unspoken wishes. She wanted to close her eyes and let him just get on with it, but she couldn’t. She stared up at him, holding her breath, waiting to see what he would do.

     He blushed.

     He pushed a little forwards, and then a little backwards. She gulped and then swallowed, stars beginning to burst behind her eyes. His fingers twitched, and then something _clicked _and she gasped, drew a huge breath and her entire body shuddered and twisted, the rush of oxygen and pleasure drowning out all sensation. She collapsed into the bed, sweaty and exhausted.

     “Need a metaphorical cigarette?” the Doctor asked. She looked away, shame burning her cheeks with a blush. Damned English blood, she could never hide a secret either. A tear formed at the corner of her eye, and she rubbed at it angrily. She felt hollow, devoid, emptied. Her ‘access hatch’ was already flipped shut, and between two twisted fingers the Doctor was holding up a tiny spanner.

     “How can a tiny spanner be a bomb?” she said in disbelief, focusing on the item to hide her humiliation.  If she asked the right question, he would be distracted enough that he would forget. It worked; the flow of words ran over her and gave her space to breathe.

     “…so in effect, it was a bomb catered directly for one TenOne robot of the human class,” he said, and held out a hand for her to jump off the trolley.

     “And you are truly a magnificent piece of machinery, Amy Pond,” he said with a grin.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta [Transcendacing.](http://transcendancing.dreamwidth.org/profile)


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